Rise
by HamPickleSandwich
Summary: The story of a time when Halloween Town was ruled over by a deceitful king, and the only ones to stand up to him are Elspeth Doll and the new arrival, Jack Skellington. Rated M for violence, among other things... Not exactly Jack/OC.
1. Chapter 1

_Dying isn't actually frightening. Sometimes it is painful, but then other times it's like falling asleep into a pleasant dream. Sometimes you fall into a nightmare. _

The cobblestone streets looked the same as anywhere else in the world. The only difference was everything else. The buildings around the street were twisted and terrifying, and the beings which walked this world were grotesque. It was a far cry from their personalities but in this world, beauty involved facial disfigurements and throaty voices. Beauty involved innocent bloodshed to feed those who lusted for injustice. Beauty involved torture of those unworthy of 'honour' and 'freedom'. But, such was life in Halloween Town. I knew about all of this; lived with it for decades. I was constantly on the run from those who hated me; from those that remained furious with me after my attempts to stand up to the man we called The Pumpkin King.

Jack died in 1847. I remember that much. I remember when I was walking through the forest that Halloween night, when I heard a moaning. The poor young fellow was wet, and dressed in a black suit. What amazed me most was what he had become after his death. In Halloween Town, I catalogued every species of ghoul and demon that ever was. Jack was something I'd never seen before- a boy of about 18, maybe 19 years old; with no flesh whatsoever. The first being he saw after his arrival was me.

"Greetings, young traveller." I said. His bleary eye sockets squinted at me, as if he was disturbed by the image of me. Later on he told me that he was, and I didn't blame him. My blue skin was torn in many places from torture, folding sickly down to my hands and right foot. The exposed muscle and bone were rotted. My brown eyes had lost their sparkle long ago. I was a wrecked entity in a shapeless outfit; a dirty grey dress and white apron. The boy looked much better dressed than I.

"Thankyou, but I am no traveller. I am afraid that I have lost my way in this forest with no recollection of how I found my way here in the first place." he had said tiredly. I nodded, holding my hand out to help him up.

"Do you remember who you are?" I asked him. Sometimes that happened to the damned. He pulled himself up, not noticing that he had changed physically, and nodded a little, rubbing his head as if he had a headache.

"I do. The question is which identity do I use? I have too many, you see."

"Well, perhaps the one you used before you got here will suffice."

The boy thought for a minute, trying to remember what name he had used. I thought about things too- I could not imagine what someone with more than one identity was like to those closest to him. He smiled knowingly.

"I remember now. Jacques Kellington." At the time, he had spoken far too quickly, and I had mistaken it for something else.

"Jack Skellington? How fitting... and how unfortunate." I told him, referring to his new body, which he still hadn't quite become aware of.

"No, I said Jacques Kellington. We are in France, are we not?" he asked me. I had looked away awkwardly before telling him the truth.

"I'm afraid you're not in France. This forest is known as The Hinterlands, and, unless you stay here forever, you will soon be in Halloween Town."

"Halloween Town? What on Earth...?" he trailed off as he looked around him, at me, and at his hands. He began to panic as he felt at his face- I recall those moments all too well as he lost his desire to keep his dignity.

He had stumbled around, clearly frightened as he yelled profanities into the night. I guessed that he searched for something reflective, so I pulled my cracked hand mirror out of my apron pocket, handing it to him as soon as he passed. His eyes were wide in horror as he took in his new appearance; the black eye sockets and lips which appeared to be stitched on. I sighed, and took the mirror back. He was tall, very tall. I calmed him down.

"You do not need to shake like the leaves that blow in the breeze. We are all dead, and we are all under a curse which strikes us at random. Sir, you have not yet asked me my name." I told him. He looked startled at my confidence.

"Your name? Oh, your name! Please, pray tell, kind lady. What is your name?" he asked me. I smiled and curtsied before him.

"Like you, I have many names. You may call me Elspeth Doll."

We stared at each other in silence. He took in my auburn hair and dirty bare feet. I stared at his feet; tiny and sheathed in black moccasins, and his fingers; spidery and frail-looking. He broke the silence with a question.

"What is your other name?" he asked. I looked down, ashamed.

"You will hear it soon enough." I told him. He frowned.

"My first identity was Jack Barker. I ran away from England when I was 17, and changed it to Jacques Kellington." He told me. I never asked him why he trusted me so much to tell me such things when I remain sullen and silent.

"Well then, sir, I see no problem to call you Jack."

"Jack Barker?"

"No, Jack Skellington." I began to walk off into the darkness.

* * *

**_I needed to rekindle my TNBC spirit (I've become obsessed with Coraline and Jojo from HHAW)- and what better way to do it than to start a new story? I know the beginning is a little choppy but everything will be explained in time. What do you guys think of Elspeth? Also, the only character I own so far is Elspeth Doll, seeing as only her and Jack are mentioned by name. Please review and tell me what you think, and if you have suggestions that you want to give feel free to do so. -HamPickleSandwich _**


	2. Chapter 2

_In a world where we look upon others with disdain; we look upon ourselves with triumph and think of ourselves as deities. However, if we look upon our lowers with disgust, what do our betters think of us?_

The walk to Halloween Town was a short one. I suppose it was because the walk was silent, or perhaps because Jack walked far too quickly for his pace to be slow. I recall having to pace briskly beside him to keep up, and I was breathless by the time we reached the outer gates. They were closed, as usual.

"Try not to be too conspicuous, as this is not a kind town, sir." I instructed, slipping quietly through the gates. Inside I was smiling – I was already teaching him his ways of catlike movement, and he took no notice of his improvements! I recall our conversing one day; he told me as a boy he had been most clumsy. Now he can do all sorts of things, as if his bones had been elasticized by sheer willpower alone!

"Not a kind town? I don't believe you, Miss Doll. You have already been kind as to show the way here, how can this town not be as kind as you?" he asked, the innocence of his voice ringing in my ears. I cringe now to think I yanked my hair out of the way to show the numerous cuts on my throat in the moonlight; the bruises from the strangling I had received for my stints of rebellion against the rules of my kind. Poor Jack suddenly became terrified.

"Watch yourself, boy. This is no place for people who do not look human, like you. I'm already in trouble for bringing you here, but let us press on." I looked about to find nobody was around the outskirts of town. It was late at night, but the parties here lasted until dawn. There are very murky recollections in my mind, of masquerade balls and octoroons of the 'lower' people, and the celebrations of the nobility… all before I gave up on being noble. It is those days that do not matter to me… and I guess all the days before I met Jack Skellington eventually became more or less lost on me, too.

The boy walked closer to me than he had on the way to town as I weaved through back alleys and side streets. He seemed frightened by my changing demeanor, my growing stride and swagger as the streets became rougher and more populated. The people who walked about were the strangest of the strange back then. There were werewolves, vampires, witches and demons alike. The little monster children protested as their mothers scolded them for being awake so late at night. However, after a short time, Jack began to look around himself. It was as if he was fascinated by the beings around him; as if he recognized a scene which he would have seen himself back in England and France.

Jack's first real experience of Halloween Town as it was always supposed to be was in the eatery. Unlike the 'upper' side of town, with their corsets and old lace doilies, the real Halloween Town as we affectionately named it was filled with music and laughter. The entire grotesque undead population came to the eatery to drink until they were subdued, to eat until they were bursting, and to make merriment until it felt like there was nothing worth feeling sad for.

"And now, Jack Skellington, it is time to welcome you to the safer side of Halloween Town. Our side."

"Our side?"

"We feel safer here… I also work here with my sister. So this is our side."

"Oh." 


	3. Chapter 3

_**Hello again all! Well, I'd like to apologise for making everyone wait for SUCH A LOOOONG time for this! I also hope that you all like the new characters introduced... I'd really like some feedback, particularly about Elspeth, how you are liking her so far...  
In case you were wondering, I searched up werewolf legends, and I found "The Beast of Gevaudan", a story about a man eating wolf creature who terrorised the village of Gevaudan, in France. One version of the story involves a man named Count Vargo who was most likely to be the Beast... and therefore I decided to use that name.**_

_**Finally: I do not own any of the characters belonging to Tim Burton. Neither do I own Count Vargo, though his full name probably won't be mentioned, so it could be any old Count, but I'm going to err on the side of caution. **_

* * *

When danger is cloaked under a veil of nobility, self-preservation becomes a double-edged sword.

An expression which has remained etched on my mind for all these years was on the face of the then innocent Jack Skellington as I opened the doors to the eatery with a flourish. Le Loup Garou, the eatery, was probably having one of its busier nights; however I cannot recall how many people exactly were there. I know his face transformed from horror to amazement in roughly 30 seconds as he looked around. He was so tall; he had to duck his head to get inside the tavern, though nobody took much notice of the new arrival as we went around towards the bar. I am pretty sure there was nobody behind the long bench once we got there, so I may have moved away from my new acquaintance to fix drinks. Though, now that I think of it, I am pretty sure I was approached by my friend, the proprietor.

"Bonsoir, mademoiselle... You are a little late, non?" The Count had a lilting French accent that was unmistakeable. I remember that this night, his clothes were neater than usual, his hair well groomed and any physical damages taken care of. The Count's one "shameful" secret: he was a werewolf. He made a name for himself by haunting the villages around the French countryside, usually Gevaudan. Only his closest friends knew of this, even though the name of the well used inn was essentially a nod to his Halloween stature. One thing that Jack was soon to find out: everyone in Halloween Town, mostly the safe side, had a capability to develop the holiday. Back in those days, it was of less importance to the village, as the tradition had still not become the Americanised holiday most are familiar with – however, we preferred to use our talents during the month of October in particular. I have a faint memory of courting with some ghoul or other, haunting an old mansion in some place or other while we stole chaste kisses amid our ghostly moans.

"Bonsoir," I replied, giving a brief curtsy to the nervous werewolf. "It cannot be that you dressed up merely for this new arrival. Sadly, monsieur, no 'fresh meat' on this one. " His gaze shifted from me to my companion, eyes widening at his miraculous height. Jack went to shake the Count's hand.

"Jacques, monsieur. Jacques Kellington." he introduced himself. The Count took his hand gingerly, unconfidently grasping it as he gave a smile that could almost be described as shy. Being French himself, he did not mishear Jack's name for what would become his only identity, and so he returned the courtesy of introduction.

"The Count, monsieur. Just the Count." he told Jack, glancing about him as if their meeting was entirely secret. His eyes fell back upon me, pleading for a moment. A little hesitantly, I stepped between them.

"Now, please, sir, sit here for a few minutes while I check on things here. It looks as if we are going through formalities within this usually humble tavern, and I suppose I will need to go and change." Jack looked a little confused for a moment, and then taking his seat as if nothing had happened. The Count took my arm, leading me to the cellar where my sister waited, holding another dress in her arms like a baby. I sighed – I really _did_ have to change into formal attire.

"Elspeth!" my sister cried. A clear expression of worry was written on my little sister's face; a look that she was usually found with these days. She has, unfortunately, slipped from my mind a lot lately, but I do know that her name was Aileana, and she was the sweetest girl to ever set foot in Halloween Town. I still remain unsure as to why she never graced the lands above the Earth and the stars and sat beside our Saviour and his Father. Aileana was young, only just gracing the age of curves and courting – not that she found many young suitors interesting in Halloween Town. Truth be told, she was frightened of everyone and everything around her; and only had confidence in me, her familiar asset to our modest lifestyle. I daresay she was pretty in a way that I never was: her skin remained mostly untouched, her copper hair tied up neatly in a bun while some strands fell down in curls we both inherited from our mother. Her one obvious disfigurement: she was mostly blind in one eye, as there were still fragments of glass in it from her death. The skin around it was torn, and so it had been stitched back together. Her other eye remained a dull brown, sparkling when she was particularly happy or excited. Now was not one of those times.

"Where have you been, sister? I've been so worried about you!" she wailed, thrusting the dress into the Count's arms and putting herself into mine as she usually did. Tonight, however, she gripped my body in a particular way that drove me to hold her back, stroking her as our mother used to.

"Hush, Aileana... hush! Don't be frightened, child!" I laughed, albeit a little nervously. She looked almost hysterical at my reaction. "...What's wrong?"

"They're coming tonight, Elsie, they're coming to see us and check up on you! They'll know that you're doing something or other again to defy His Highness and then what will I do without you? You know he's trying new ways to get rid of all of us forever and you'll be first to go!"

"What? Tonight?" My sister nodded wildly. My nerves dissolved into anger as I pushed Aileana away. The Count held out the dress as I snatched it to myself. As he moved towards the cellar steps, I put my hand on his arm.

"Make sure they do not find Jack. He is a completely different kind of undead, and they will be sure to take him in."

"You mean Jacques?" the older man asked. It was funny how the Count always knew what I meant.

"Yes, sir. Jack Skellington. Now, Aileana, help me lace up."

For some reason, we were never allowed on the other side unless given permission to for work or slavery. Of course, I had been there many times for the purpose of 'humiliation by public torture', or just plain interrogation, but they have never found a way to silence me yet. They being the 'noble officials' of Halloween Town, they came here every now and again (sometimes more often than most, unfortunately) to see that we remain a minority. They particularly liked to talk to me, as they know me as a 'risk' to their 'immortality' and 'divinity' because of my ways of rebellion.

Usually, the visitors from the other side were a small party of three: the mayor of the time, the minister, and the chief of law enforcement. As I resurfaced into the main level of the tavern, tightly laced and neatly dressed, I noticed that tonight was not very different from usual. Sir Ernest, the mayor, was staring everybody down. He had a cold look in his eye that set me on edge; it was obvious that he had come up with another of his stupid plans to take something that wasn't his. The absence of the crotchety old minister, whose name does not come to me right now, did make his intentions slightly unclear. Instead, the man was flanked by soldiers, armed with pitchers of holy water. _The vampires, _I realised suddenly. Taking inspiration from the legendary Robin Hood, one of the younger vampires had stole into the banks and taken some very valuable items of interest. However, I recall that young Aleron had temporarily disappeared, taking one of our secret passageways into the human world in order to avoid this very situation.

"Whoever you are looking for, they are not here." I announced, finishing my ascent into the room.

"Ah, Miss Doll! How pleasant to see you on this fine evening, but I assure you, our business is nothing of your concern, unless you choose to make yourself our inconvenience once again!" Ernest called back, though his tone was far from happy.

"Excuse moi, monsieurs, but I would like to assure you that fugitives do not think to hide here. It is a place where you frequent, non? I believe that hiding here would be not at all a wise decision." the Count interjected, emerging from the back rooms where our very own fugitive had been led – perhaps he had been shown the secret room below the furthermost hiding place, a room that had only been found recently. If not, he did indeed come to learn that room well enough to memorise every crack in the walls, and every knothole in the floor.

Ernest, understanding but in no way satisfied with this answer, seethed silently, trying desperately to grasp a retort that would force one of us to act out. His mission, perhaps for the first time ever, had turned out to be a complete failure. Of course, when he could not find words, he unscrewed the cap off the bottle of holy water and flung it at the quartet of vampires sitting in the corner of the room before retreating with a swish of his cloak. The startled vampires hissed in pain and fright, stumbling over chairs and guests to get out of harm's way. Finally, there was quiet.

"I think... ma chérie... you should not cause any trouble while our good friend Ernest is having his tantrum." the Count said quietly, his gaze turning to Aileana, who was quivering with tearless sobs. Nobody was more afraid of Ernest than she was – though not of what he could do to her. She was afraid of what he could do to me.


End file.
